**Chapter 14: Crystals of the Night V**
A heavy, oppressive presence drew near, an indescribable sensation that felt as if the very darkness were surging forward. For me, an entity that had stepped outside the rules of death, the aura was familiar. However, for the Order of the Final Knights and the mercenaries who faced it in the flesh, it was nothing short of astounding.
We needed to escape the underground. Though I couldn’t yet see them, the number of undead surrounding the ancient castle was staggering.
Necromancers excelled in overwhelming their foes with sheer numbers. Unless one was a mage capable of wide-area attacks, the difference in numbers would dictate the outcome. The Order of the Final Knights, possessing the power to annihilate large swathes of undead, was rightly called a natural enemy.
I had left Lazar and the others behind. In the narrow underground passage, the disparity in numbers could be somewhat mitigated. While it was dubious whether I could slip past the undead without detection, the chances of survival were not negligible. After a moment’s thought, I decided to assess our strength. The undead were neither fleeing nor hiding, and since I was one of their kind, reading their presence was not difficult. However, the sheer number of them exceeded my brain’s processing capacity.
In that case, it would be better to act flamboyantly and provoke them into attacking.
“A dangerous strategy,” Senri remarked, her gaze reproachful. But this was not a tactic that a human with limited stamina could afford to take. Moreover, it was the safest option. With Senri guarding the entrance to the underground, our plan would be flawless.
The undead gathered their death energy to strengthen themselves. For vampires, the amount gained through vampirism was negligible in comparison, but it was better than nothing. The energy released by the undead upon their second death was so minuscule compared to living beings that there was little reason to hunt them down. However, with this many, it would at least fill my stomach somewhat.
Before heading into battle, I confessed to Senri, “Every drop of your blood belongs to me. I won’t give it to them.”
“……I see,” she replied.
I had expected her to be moved, but her reaction was surprisingly lukewarm. However, judging by her scent, she didn’t seem to dislike me, so I decided to back off. I knew that a man who pushed too hard without considering the other person’s feelings would be disliked. I had read that in a book.
As I stepped outside alone, wielding the “Light Devourer,” I leapt onto the crumbling spire at the center of the castle, traversing the walls. The cold wind caressed my skin, and the moonlight invigorated me.
Even through the status conveyed by my glasses, I could see the throngs of undead pressing together in the darkness. There were an astonishing number of them—truly an army.
Yet, I felt no fear. Instead, I was filled with exhilaration. The mafia had been weak. It had been since Rainer that I had faced such a multitude of monsters. The undead surrounding the ancient castle likely outnumbered those once controlled by Lord Horos. The combat instincts of a lower-rank vampire surged within me. There was no hatred, but I felt I could slay them endlessly.
I sensed countless gazes upon me. I was being watched. Hatred and murderous intent brought a delightful thrill to my heart.
And then, without any signal, the undead surged toward the ancient castle in unison.
—
Senri had provided me with invaluable information up to this point. It encompassed strategies, common knowledge, the methods of necromancers, and the fundamentals of battling the undead.
The first thing I needed to confirm was whether they had noticed my presence.
When fighting vampires, it was essential to determine their weaknesses. The Master Beast I had once fought was a prime example of this principle. I was strong. Although still a lower rank, I possessed enough power to corner a demon king, and through regular acts of vampirism, my strength had increased since then.
If they realized I was a vampire, they would undoubtedly come armed with accursed crosses and garlic (silver weapons and blessed holy water would be ineffective against their own kind).
I observed the approaching undead, confirming that they were coming at me with brute force. The decayed castle walls were no longer functional, yet an uncountable number of skeletons climbed toward me in a spectacular display. Of course, skeletons were also pouring in through the open gates.
“Impressive… I didn’t expect this,” I muttered.
Skeletons were climbing atop one another, forming a grotesque pyramid—bodies devoid of flesh and skin proving remarkably useful for this macabre display.
However, challenging me with sheer numbers was folly, especially for beings with no stamina or regeneration. Even the formidable Rainer army had struggled against me; a mere horde of skeletons would be no match.
Bored with mere observation, I swiftly slid down the half-collapsed roof of the spire, diving into the mass of bones rushing toward me.
The skeletons were, indeed, just skeletons. I had heard that their combat prowess reflected the aptitude of their previous lives, but these were likely the bones of ordinary people. Their combat skills were far inferior to those of the skeletons guarding the lord’s mansion, yet their numbers were overwhelming.
The skeletons wielded nothing more than crude swords and wore no armor. Their shabby treatment evoked a twinge of pity within me.
With a single swing of my cleaver, several skeletons were sent flying. The bones, enhanced by magic, were meaningless against the strength of a lower-rank vampire. Without breaking a sweat (in truth, I didn’t need to breathe), I began to dismantle the tower of skeletons.
The sound of their remains crashing against the cobblestones was deafening. The hundreds of skeletons’ swords barely grazed me. Yet, how many skeletons had they prepared? Did they have a particular fondness for them?
As I continued to slash through the seemingly endless horde of skeletons, I frowned at the lack of resistance. Just then, my keen vampire hearing picked up a sharp whistling sound.
I spun around, dodging the incoming projectile.
It was an arrow—a steel arrow. It sliced through the mass of skeletons like a miracle, embedding itself in the stone floor.
Beyond the relentless tide of undead, I spotted a skeleton clad in impressive armor atop the castle walls. It wielded a massive bow, its bones as dark as the abyss.
Perhaps I should call it a Blackbone Archer. Surrounding it were slightly lesser skeletons, similarly equipped with bows and armor.
The Blackbone Archer unleashed a volley of arrows. The incoming black arrows weaved through the gaps in the skeletons, shattering some as they flew straight toward me. Their skill was clearly on another level. In tandem, the surrounding skeletons released their own arrows, creating a rain of projectiles.
Ah, so this is the real threat.
At that moment, I realized something new and clicked my tongue.
I was not the only one observing the archers. They were probing as well. What were they searching for?
Of course—my true form.
To put it more bluntly, they were likely dispatched with the intent of confirming that I was not an Eclipse Knight.
Eclipse Knights are apostles of light. If I were one, they wouldn’t be able to defeat me with mere numbers, and I would be purified from a distance if they tried to keep their distance. They had observed my fighting style and were now convinced I was not an Eclipse Knight. They had sent their main forces against me.
How underestimated I felt.
Among the rain of arrows, I deftly deflected only those fired by the Blackbone Archer, which were harder to see and more powerful. The arrows shot by the other archers were slower and lacked significant force.
The “Light Devourer” left to me by the lord was truly an exceptional cleaver. Its reach, durability, and sharpness were all impeccable.
Dodging and occasionally parrying arrows, I continued to dismantle the skeletons pouring in like a tide. Though they surged like waves, even if they were the remains of ordinary people without combat skills, the number of graves was finite. The night had only just begun; as undead, they likely had no intention of fighting until dawn. Time was on my side.
Amidst the cacophony of sounds, I discerned the sound of something shattering against the ground. I leapt over the skeletons and parried a descending black blade with my cleaver. With a surge of strength, I sent the black knight reeling backward, crushing its allies as it landed.
“What a generous display,” I remarked, my eyes widening in surprise.
Before me stood a formidable Blackbone Knight, towering at nearly two meters. In its previous life, it must have been a renowned warrior.
The Blackbone Knight raised its massive sword without uttering a word. It possessed a terrifying strength granted only to beings from beyond.
Yet, it was no match for me.
Had they been able to speak, they would have surely exclaimed, “How absurd!” The strike they unleashed, likely fueled by all its might, contained enough power to overwhelm me when I had just become a lower-rank vampire. However, they were merely mutated beings; my mutations far surpassed theirs.
The onslaught of Skeletons had diminished without my noticing. In their place, more powerful aberrations began to emerge. Bone wolves, bone monkeys, and bone bears—seeing them all together, I couldn’t help but marvel at the variety of skeletal forms that animated objects could take. The Lord had always used only Skeletons, so this was a refreshing change.
Moreover, I noticed that countless translucent humanoids were flitting about in the air, their collective wails echoing through the night like a mournful choir.
It felt as if the end of the world had come.
“A full course, huh? Quite the spectacle,” I said, licking my lips as I raised my hatchet high.
§ § §
Several dozen kilometers away from the ancient castle, atop a remote mountain, a man with skin the color of dried earth stared wide-eyed into a crystal orb, his expression twisted like that of a malevolent demon. He appeared to be in his thirties, not particularly tall, but his murky eyes would send any sane human fleeing in terror.
This man was a being of hatred, a scourge upon humanity—a necromancer. A dark mage who manipulated the dead and defiled souls.
Yet, his usually expressionless face was now contorted in disbelief.
“Ah… this can’t be happening.”
Inside the crystal ball, a scene unfolded that seemed beyond this world.
Countless undead surged into a castle that had long been devoid of its ruler. Many of the undead were Skeletons, but among them were also mutated Skeletons—known as the Black Bones—and bone beasts that moved in ways structurally impossible for humans. There were also numerous incorporeal undead that could not be harmed by normal weapons, boasting enough power to obliterate a small town in a single night.
Yet, this army of undead that the man prided himself on could not kill a single person.
“What is that human…?”
The sight was unbelievable for the necromancer, who had faced little resistance until now.
The target of the undead was a lone young man. He appeared to be in his mid-teens, wearing sunglasses despite the night, and wielding a clearly abnormal, oversized blade.
But that was all. He was neither an Eclipse Knight nor casting offensive spells, and there were no allies nearby.
Yet, with a single swing of his hatchet, he effortlessly sent a horde of undead flying. He deflected the strike of a Black Bone Knight and accurately sliced through arrows that were nearly impossible to perceive, all while showing no signs of fatigue despite having been in battle for some time.
“Is this really a human…? Or perhaps some cursed power?”
The forces dispatched by the man were vast. Unlike the Skeletons he had previously sent out as mere scouts, he had sent nearly everything he had to eliminate any potential threats to his dominion.
Numbers equated to power. Even if the opponent were a single knight, sending a thousand soldiers would suffice. It was unfathomable that they could not kill what appeared to be a mere human.
The scene reflected in the crystal ball was one of constant disadvantage. As the man’s excitement began to fade, clarity returned to his thoughts.
“The poison and miasma have no effect… no, what about his wounds? Damn it, I can’t see!”
His skill was terrifying. However, not every arrow raining down like a storm was ineffective. The Skeleton archers he had assembled were elite, using the bones of exceptional marksmen from their previous lives. While none had struck him directly, many had grazed him, and those arrows were laced with potent poison that would incapacitate any human with just a scratch.
“Why can he remain so calm? Why?”
There were many other puzzling points.
The undead were imbued with a powerful miasma through dark magic. Miasma alters the air. While a single unit might not affect a human, with such numbers, moving would surely be a struggle.
Yet, the young man showed no change in complexion. The wails of the Banshee, which should have shaken the human spirit, and the sleep-inducing mist that should have enveloped him upon entry were both ineffective.
The massive Skeleton he had painstakingly created crashed against the castle walls, but it had already been breached once. He doubted it could inflict significant damage on the young man in its current state.
The man clenched his hands until they bled, whispering in a trembling voice.
“Damn it… a monster. Did I misjudge? I never expected the Necromancer to have such a formidable presence at the ancient castle…”
He should have prioritized acquiring the Night Crystal over eliminating the enemy. No matter how coveted the crystal was for a necromancer, it could not be weighed against the army he had spent years building.
No matter how strong the opponent was, they were still just a single warrior. He could have sent a decoy to distract them while he searched for the crystal.
There were still options left. However, he absolutely had to avoid further losses.
He had memorized the young man’s face. The next time they met, he would kill him without fail. He would make the necromancer regret turning him into an enemy for all eternity.
As he spat out orders through the connection, a cool voice echoed in the empty room.
“Wait, Third-Rank Necromancer, ‘Flesh Flayer’ Roma.”
A black mist coalesced into a humanoid form. Emerging from the darkness was a woman clad in black. Her gaze was cold, but her irises were as red as blood, and her skin was so translucent it hardly seemed human.
A Vampire. One of the most famous and feared aberrations in this world.
Roma, taken aback by the unexpected appearance, furrowed his brow and shouted.
“It’s you! I have no pleasant memories of your kind. How did you get in here?”
“That’s why you’re only a Third-Rank. There are many hidden paths. This mountain has already been purchased by my master and given to me; intruders have no rights here.”
“A… a Vampire? What do you want?”
Despite his army being on the brink of annihilation, Roma maintained his haughty demeanor, while Seabull, the Familiar of the ‘King of Stakes,’ wore a thin smile.
“My master is interested in him. We won’t let him escape.”